


Fire B Gone, Waffle Makers, and Babies 'R Us

by independentalto



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Secret Santa 2016, also humor, fluff is everywhere, poor bridget, secret santa shenanigans abound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:25:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9125605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: Mack wishes the base had an Amazon locker. Robbie has to make a good impression. Coulson decides he's not cut out for IKEA couches anymore.Or, when Daisy decides the team is in need of a Secret Santa.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kelly's Marvel Santa Exchange 2016 for @quakesrider on tumblr!

“OI! ALL YOU NERDS GET IN HERE, STAT!”

Daisy sighed as she heard a loud chorus of whines start up and ignored them, reaching for the bucket she kept on the lounge coffee table. The bored look on her face was already well on its way to settling in when the rest of the team filed in, Fitz leading the pack nursing a scowl and a beer. “About time you all made it,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes. “Are you agents or sloths?”

“To be fair, I’m injured,” Robbie groused, plopping into the nearest armchair and shooting a glare at whoever tried to voice a complaint. “I don’t run as fast as any of you say you do.” His declaration was punctuated by Simmons running in and almost slamming into Mack, saved by the solid wall that was his body. “Correction. I don’t run as fast as Simmons does.”

Daisy just shrugged, waiting until all of them had quieted until she spoke. “It’s come to my attention that there are a few days until Christmas,” she said, holding a hand up at the beginning of more whining. “I do not  _ care _ if you see Christmas as a corporate soul-sucker that brainwashes children with cheesy TV specials,” she deadpanned, glaring at Fitz. “We are celebrating this holiday, and that is that.” 

“As long as we don’t build gingerbread houses?” Fitz tried in a weak protest. Daisy consulted the list in her hand, rifling through the long scroll of a paper. When she didn’t show any sign of reaching the bottom anytime soon, he just sighed and waved a hand. “Never mind.” 

“Excellent.” Daisy shoved the hat out to the group. “Everyone get in line and pick a name. You now have an official Secret Santa.” She tuned out the grumbling that followed, making sure everyone had a small slip of paper in their hands before setting the hat on her head. “I will be acting as Santa this holiday season, so know that I  _ will  _ be watching.” All of them shuddered a little; they knew she would resort to using the base’s security cameras if she wanted to. 

“Am I exempt from this?” Robbie asked, sending his girlfriend a pleading look. When Daisy just rolled her eyes, he tried harder. “Don’t make me flame out on you.” 

“Robbie, you flame out when you think someone deserves to die. You’re not gonna flame out during  _ Christmas _ . One, it’ll melt all of the snow around the base, two, you’ll  _ burn  _ down the base, and three, the one that deserves to die is Mack, because he drunk-drank all of the eggnog last week.”

“I was drunk!”

“That doesn’t excuse you.”

* * *

 

**Mack**

“Someone tell me again why this base doesn’t have an Amazon locker,” Mack mumbled as he sipped, zombie-like, at what seemed to be his fifteenth cup of coffee. When he’d pulled Coulson, he’d figured it wouldn’t be  _ too  _ hard - get the man a piece of Captain America merchandise, and he’d be good to go. 

As much as he expected the former director to be a fanatic, Mack hadn’t been prepared for just  _ how  _ much of a fanatic the man was. It got to the point where he was elbow-deep in Google searches of the same combinations of words, the time on the clock ticking faster and faster until it would reach the point where standard shipping wouldn’t make it in time. 

Hence, the Amazon locker. 

“You look exhausted,” Daisy commented as she plopped down next to him, swapping out the empty cup of coffee he thought he’d been sipping at for the last three hours. “Like, for real, man. You look worse than Robbie, and he’s possessed by the devil sometimes. What you up to?”

Mack sighed, rubbing his forehead. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep for what felt like a goddamned week. “I got Coulson,” Right after it came out of his mouth, it occurred to him that Daisy already knew whose was whose - he wouldn’t have put it past her to do such a thing. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

“Right in one, Turtleman,” Mack was so tired he didn’t have the heart to tell Daisy not to call him that. “And I happen to know that he’s already got that limited edition Captain America card. Back of his office,” she explained when Mack gained enough sentience to give her a pitiful look. “Try thinking outside the box.” When he waved a half-dead hand at the computer screen, she laughed. “Something that fulfills his every day needs. All of his Captain America stuff has to do with memorabilia.” With that, she walked off, leaving Mack to stare at the screen and wonder just what the hell she meant.

One more click couldn’t hurt, he supposed. The next page provided him with the usual, but a glossy shield stood out to him at once, and he perked up just a little.  _ A waffle maker?  _ Mack clicked on it, examining the detail, reviews, and price. After some deliberation, he decided to buy it, deciding that the amount of sleep he was going to get was worth the extra five dollars or so. 

The room swayed almost upside down upon him standing, and he put his hands out in defense. “I swear my balance was better than this,” he announced to no one in particular, wobbling on gelatin legs towards the bunks. In his exhaustion, he didn’t make it far enough, and hit the floor with a  _ thud  _ in front of what he presumed was someone’s bunk. 

It wasn’t until the base was lifted from lockdown and its entirety searched for intruders that Elena found the Turtleman in all of his glory, snoring away with an arm under his head outside of her bunk. It took all of the men (minus Fitz, who had looked at the situation once and gone to get a car jack) just to get Mack off of the ground, and another thirty minutes to get him back to his bunk, as they had to stop and keep taking breaks. Elena took over once he was tucked in, reasoning that she’d be the best one to inform him of what had happened once he woke up.

After all, it wasn’t like a turtle had to be dragged to their bunk every single day.

* * *

 

“May.”

“Johnson.”

“Y’know, we can drop the surname thing. I just thought it was cool. Are we a go?”

“I’m on my way to his office now.”

“Good. Do everything but sleep with him to get this pulled through. I have a feeling Coulson wouldn’t approve.”

* * *

 

**Fitz**

“Jemma, you  _ have _ to help me.” 

Simmons looked up from where she was calibrating the latest batch of lab instruments, lifting her goggles in questioning. Of course, she was in reality working on a sonic screwdriver for Fitz - it’d taken quite some help from Mack before she’d been able to cobble together a decent version - but he didn’t need to know that. “The great Leopold Fitz asks for help,” she gasped, pretending to look shocked. “Whatever could you need help with?”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in that my Academy scores were just a hint higher than yours,” Fitz muttered, hoisting a box up onto the lab table. “I can’t find a single thing in here.” 

“In here - Fitz, what are you even doing?” Simmons’ curiosity got the better of her as she rifled through the box, frowning at each of the titles. “The  _ Brookstone  _ catalogue?  _ Home Living _ ?  _ What to Expect When You’re Expecting _ ? Fitz, I know we’re moving in together, but it doesn’t warrant a  _ pregnancy _ manual!”

“Right, that,” Fitz blushed as he yanked the offending book out of her hands, tossing it to the other side of the lab. “Daisy must’ve put that in there - never asking her for advice again - course she’s not pregnant, either -”

“Fitz, what’s this all about?” 

Simmons didn’t receive any answer except for Fitz diving almost headfirst into the box, muttering to himself still. “Bridal magazines, oh my god, the Bath and Body Works catalogue, that could work, Playgirl?” There was a long silence as he stared at the cover. “No. Not that.”

Simmons at last yanked the stack of magazines from him, forcing the engineer to look up at her. “Fitz. What. Is. Going. On.”

“IpulledMayasmySecretSantaandIdon’tknowwhattogether.”

Simmons pulled back, appraising him. Well, at least he wasn’t trying to overcompensate on decorating. Goodness knows they’d end up having the lot of that when they were at IKEA in a month’s time. “May, you say?”

“You’ve got to help me,” Fitz repeated, desperate. “What the bloody hell am I supposed to get her? I’ve been through all of these catalogues!” His face was as pale as she’d ever seen it, Simmons mused, second to the time he’d seen her fall off of the Bus without a parachute. “It’s  _ The Cavalry,  _ Jemma.”

“She said never to call her that,” Simmons murmured as she flipped through some of the catalogues, tossing away the  _ Playgirl  _ and  _ Home Living _ . May wasn’t about to start a domestic life anytime soon, and there was no way she spent time in her bunk doing...that.

Right?

“What about wireless headphones?” She held up the catalogue for Fitz to see. “It would make sense she she moves so much during training, it must do a lot of damage on the wires.” Fitz snorted and waved a hand at the catalogue.

“Thing’s a piece of rubbish. Could build a better one in my sleep.”

Simmons froze. “Fitz, you’re a genius!”

Fitz looked up, confusion written all over his face. “I am? I mean, I am, but...I am?”

“You just said you could build better wireless headphones in your sleep,” Simmons said in a matter-of-fact voice. “So do it. I’m sure May would appreciate it regardless how it turns out.” She let out a squeak as Fitz hugged her,, almost cutting off her airflow. “Fitz...can’t...”

“Right, sorry.” Fitz let go, looking much more excited than he had a minute and a half ago. All of a sudden, his movements stilled. “What do I start with?” He turned to Simmons, the dissolved panic making a full-blown return. “Jem, where do I start?”

_ “Fitz _ .” Simmons sighed, snatching the box of magazines in case his fear led him back to rifling through the pages. “What matters to you most when wearing a pair of headphone?”

“Bloody battery life, thing’s always too short to get through even a full 24 hours, our comms are all you could even  _ consider  _ good enough, and not even the newer ones, the old ones are just as good when it comes to it -” He stopped when he saw Simmons standing there with a patient look on her face. “Ah. The comms. As always, Jemma. Genius.”

“Life isn’t always about scores,” she retorted with a half smirk as she left the lab. Now that she thought about it, she’d had yet to open the piece of paper she’d drawn for her own Secret Santa. It was best she get on that.

* * *

**Coulson**

“Wineglass set?”

“No, Phil.”

“Speaker set? No, Fitz’ll have designed a set of his own already, maybe...fake Christmas tree?”

“Phil.”

“Wait, what if I got him a monkey?”

“ _ Phil _ . _ ”  _

“What do I get him, May?” Coulson turned around, his hands thrown in the air. “Tell me. What do you get for the millennial couple that’s moving into their own apartment for the first time?”

May’s face was impassive as she responded. “A security system.” 

“Then you should move in with them,” Elena suggested as she wandered into the kitchen, snagging a mug from the cupboard. “I’ve heard there’s no better security system than The Cavalry.” She smirked at May’s automatic ‘Don’t call me that’ and poured herself a coffee. “You know, Fitz is trying to get an 80-inch TV for their apartment.”

Coulson snorted. “I’m not getting him the TV. He’d just take it apart and try to make it better.”

“He’s not winning the argument with Simmons,” Elena said, looking at the former director over the rim of her mug. “Maybe you should get him something that spurs the argument along. And he wants that TV, Agent Coulson. I’m just saying.” 

“Where do I...?” Coulson looked confused for a second before turning to her. “Come on, Rodriguez. We’re going to see how good at being undercover you are.”

This time, May snorted. “I warn you, she’s terrible at subtlety.”

* * *

 

“Ready to head out?”

“Just a minute. I’m wrapping the envelope.”

“You should do it in like, thirty layers of newspaper.”

May stared at Daisy for a few seconds before reaching for the newspapers in the recycle bin. “Some days, I wish you were my daughter.”

* * *

 

**Robbie**

“Mack. Mack. Mack. Mack.” Robbie wasn’t one for incessant door-banging, but since May had gone AWOL and Simmons was dealing with a crisis of the Fitz variety (he’d learned a while ago not to walk in on those), the sleep-deprived turtle was all he had left to turn to. 

At last, the door was wrenched open, and Mack glared down at him, so sleepy that Robbie could see the sleep grains in the corners of his eyes. “What do you want?” 

“Daisy.” Right. That was the whole reason he’d dared to wake the sleeping giant. He needed a gift for Daisy. “I need a gift. For Daisy. I drew her. Secret Santa.” Why were all of his sentences so short? It wasn’t like he was scared of Mack. He’d gotten over that a long time ago, when he’d gotten the shovel talk from everyone on the team. Mack’s shovel talk hadn’t even been the scariest. (That one had gone to Simmons, involving several different chemicals and a sharp scalpel.) 

Mack scowled. “And you couldn’t ask May or Simmons?”

“May’s gone,” Robbie answered, relieved to get past the initial stage of interrogation. “Simmons is helping Fitz out. You’re the last one left that won’t blab to her.” 

“I’m still too tired for this,” Mack groaned, leaning against the doorway. “Um. I don’t know. Daisy’s unusual. Get her something off of that fandom website she always likes or something.” 

Robbie was mystified. “There’s a fandom website she uses?”

Mack snorted. “What kind of boyfriend are you?”

“One that lights his brain on fire a lot, in all theory, so a little scattered memory is excusable.” 

“Fair enough. But yeah. Try Redbubble,” Mack nodded. “There’s a lot of merch about Inhumans now that they’ve taken the spotlight, and Daisy’s seen more than her fair share of shit when it comes to her genes.” 

“I know,” Robbie murmured. Daisy saw even more now that she’d recovered from being Quake, the infamous fugitive seen as a threat to the public. He saw the glares she got from the press, the online posts he had to shield her from reading, the cool facade he saw her put on every time they left for a mission. It was breaking her inside, he knew, no matter how hard she tried to hide it behind a sarcastic smile and well-placed quip. “Wish the world saw her like we did.” 

Which was why, three hours, an almost-torched computer mouse and thirty Google searches later, he and Mack were staring at a design, the block letters proclaiming ‘INHUMAN AND PROUD’ in bare minimum lettering. “I think we have a winner,”

Mack yawned. “Good. I’m going back to bed.” And with that, he wandered back to his bunk, leaving Robbie to wonder at a whole new set of problems: what size did Daisy wear? Should he size up or down? What if it shrunk?

He sighed, pushed the chair back, and headed to the lab. Simmons  _ had  _ to be done with helping Fitz at this point.

* * *

 

**Elena and Coulson**

“Sir, with all due respect, can I ask you a question?”

Coulson plopped onto a KLIPPAN couch, testing out its back. “Sure.” He looked up at Elena, who was staring at him with a slight expression of doubt. “Is it about Mack?”

“What? No, no no no no no no no.  _ No _ .” Elena was glad Coulson couldn’t see her face as he moved on to the NOCKEBY, sprawling out onto it. “It’s not like that. Mack and I aren’t...we’re not...”  _ Serious _ , her mind finished for her. They weren’t that serious, anyways. “Don’t buy that couch,” she advised. “Fitz would put his feet up all the time and Simmons would nag him.”

“Good point,” Coulson said, getting up again, wincing at his back cracked. “Ugh, I’m getting too old for these IKEA trips.” He half-hobbled over to STOCKSUND, plopping onto the gray, floral-print loveseat. “What about this one?”

“Too Simmons,” Elena answered at once. She was beginning to get confused - weren’t they there to get Fitz a TV stand? At least, that’s what she thought her suggestion had implied. “And sir, if I may ask...”

Coulson turned over the price tag of a VALLENTUNA, furrowing his brow. “We’re getting the TV stand, Agent Rodriguez. Don’t worry, I was smart enough to get your clue. Thought they’d like a couch to go with it, too.” He looked up. “Rearrangeable into eight pieces. What do you think?” 

Despite herself, Elena found herself nodding. “Good for spontaneity, knowing the team, sir.” She paused as Coulson wrote down the information, mouthing out the different fabric patterns. “But that wasn’t my question...”

“Right. That.” Coulson stood up, and together, they walked over to where the organizational furniture was. “Fire away, Agent.”

“I drew Robbie as my Secret Santa,” Elena said, bending down to check the price of a TV stand. “I’m not sure what to get him. What  _ do  _ you get for the man on fire?” She straightened up, squinting at the dimensions. “How about this one?”

Coulson bent, wincing at the sound of his knees cracking. “Fitz said he wanted an eighty incher, right?” Elena nodded. “Good. Get him a fire extinguisher.”

“What?”

“Did I stutter?” Coulson stood, brushing imaginary lint off of his pants. “We’ll get this TV stand for FitzSimmons - it’s got bookshelves  _ and _ it’ll hold their books, and get Reyes a fire extinguisher. I’m sure he can put himself out, but it’d make for a good joke.” He held his hand out. “Pass the paper and golf pencil, will you?”

* * *

 

Daisy frowned as her phone rang, shifting in her seat to pick it out of her back pocket. “Daisy Johnson. What’s shaking?”

_ “Terrible pun, Daisy,” _ Simmons said from the other end of the line.  _ “And I was just wondering as to why I drew Bobbi for my Secret Santa. Seeing as, you know, she’s not here and all...”  _ A pause.  _ “Where are you, anyways?” _

Daisy snorted. “Don’t worry about that, Jem. Just get Bobbi a gift you think she’d like. Which shouldn’t be hard, right? You two were science buddies and all of that stuff.” 

“Ten minutes to landing.”

“Oh, shit, May, are we there already?” A nod. “I gotta go, Jem. I’ll catch you later. Make sure you get Bobbi that gift, okay?” 

_ “But how am I supposed to -”  _ CLICK.

“That was dangerous,” May commented. “She could’ve found out, you know.”

“Eh.” Daisy tucked her phone back into her pocket. “She’s Simmons, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d already found out by the fact that Bobbi was in the pile to begin with.”

* * *

 

**Bobbi and Hunter**

_ RING. RING. RING. RING. _

“Bloody hell, Bob, you pick up the phone...” Bobbi’s half-asleep response was to whack Hunter with her pillow before slamming it over her ears. “I swear, you drop our phone number in an encoded message  _ one time _ ...”

_ RING. RING. RING. RING. _

Groaning, Bobbi picked the phone up off of their (just purchased with actual blood money) nightstand, putting it to her ear. “I killed a foreign diplomat three hours ago and was planning to sleep today, so you better have a good fucking reason to be calling me.”

Adrenaline surged through her system at the sound of May’s voice, calm and cold. “Get dressed. Meet at the local cafe in five.” For a brief second, Bobbi considered going back to sleep when May hung up, but paused at the slight trembling that rocked their apartment. 

Hunter sat up, rubbing his eyes in an effort to wake up. “I thought you said we lived in a quake free zone.” He caught sight of Bobbi’s wide eyes, and sighed. “What’re we doing now, Bob? Taking over a small country? Carrying drug money across a border?”

“That wasn’t an earthquake,” Bobbi said. “That was Daisy. She and May are here.”

* * *

 

**Daisy and May**

May sipped at her green tea, hissing a little when the scalding water burned her tongue. She sighed, putting the mug down. She didn’t know why she’d even bothered ordering it, considering that their meeting was supposed to be short. 

Then again, she supposed a small part of her had known Bobbi and Hunter would’ve been some sliver of past late.

As if on cue, Daisy echoed her thoughts. “Where are they?” She, too, sipped at her own coffee, and judging by the expression on her face, it didn’t taste too good. “Remind me never to drink from this place again.” 

“Sorry we’re late,” Bobbi and Hunter breezed into the little cafe, all eyes turning to the tall blonde and the grumpy Englishman slumping along beside her. “This one decided he’d take a fifteen minute shower before shaving.” 

“It was a  _ ten  _ minute shower, Bob, save your breath -”

“ _ Anyways _ ,” Bobbi interrupted, sliding into the booth next to Daisy, “what’s shaking, Quake?” The two of them shared a hug, Bobbi hugging Daisy in a near chokehold before moving onto May. “You come in from the cold yet?”

“How’d you know about that?”

“The media doesn’t lie,” Hunter leaned across the table to exchange an elaborate handshake with her. “Saw what you’ve been doing, and I’ve got to say, a little sloppy on the execution style, and you could hit richer people, but -”

_ “Hunter!”  _

Daisy looked at the both of them before bursting into laughter. “You two have  _ so  _ turned into a married couple,” May didn’t look up, but Bobbi could swear she saw the other woman give a slight nod to that. “Anyways,I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve gathered you here today,”

“It’s a cafe meeting, not the UN,” Bobbi muttered, but she still took the slip of paper May slid her way, unfolding it. Hunter leaned close to read over her shoulder, and for once, she didn’t scold him.  _ “All disavowed agents are welcome to return to the agency, provided that...”  _ She looked up, her jaw hanging. “You mean we get to...?”

“Free and clear,” May spoke for the first time since they’d arrived. “You’ll get level blue clearance once we get back, but I imagine that’ll rise once you prove yourself to the new Director.”

Daisy slid them two pieces of paper, and Bobbi and Hunter opened them up, frowning. “Why’ve I got Yo-Yo’s name?” Hunter asked, waving his paper around. “Granted, last time I saw her, we were on okay terms, but...”

“Secret Santa,” Daisy answered. “Hunter, you’ve got Elena. Bobbi, you’ve got Simmons.” Bobbi nodded, tucking her piece of paper into her pocket. “Also, just so you know, FitzSimmons is  _ this  _ close to shacking up. So if you hear -” She was cut off by Bobbi and Hunter turning to each other and screaming in unison. 

May exchanged an amused look with her. “That went over well.”

“Bloody brilliant, he is!” Hunter exclaimed, high-fiving his ex-wife. “And moving in, I’m so proud of him.”

“Wait, does this mean there’s gonna be a baby?” Bobbi clutched Hunter’s arm in excitement. “There’s gotta be a baby. They’re shacking up, so there has to be a baby, right? We have to go get baby clothes. Oh my god. We have to go get them like, right now.” She turned to May. “Can you fly me to the nearest Babies ‘R Us?”

“Slow down, blonde Yo-Yo,” Daisy muttered. “We can’t bring you two back just yet.” 

“What?” Bobbi asked. She was beyond ready to move back into the base, to see the team again. Gone would be the days of looking over her shoulder, wondering if the creepy man at the coffee shop was a true creep or an agent on her tail. The days where they’d have to go hungry because they’d run out of money from their last job. She’d eat any type of cooking, even May’s, as long as it meant she got to have three square meals a day. “Why not?”

May gave her a rueful smile. “I pulled Mack as my Secret Santa.”

“Wha -  _ oh _ ,” Hunter’s eyes widened. “Are you sure you’re not fishing a bit too deep, Agent May?”

Bobbi smacked him in the arm. “Three meals a day, Hunter. Three. And having a beer won’t count anymore.” Hunter pouted, but nodded anyways. “Pick us up before the party?”

“I’ll pick you up in a week, then.”

* * *

 

**Hunter and Bobbi, Three Days Later**

“Bloody hell,” Hunter breathed, looking around in awe at all of the baby furniture. “You have to buy  _ this much  _ for a baby?” Somewhere in the distance, he could already hear the sounds of crying babies and disgruntled fathers. “We are  _ never  _ having children.” 

But alas, it was too late, as Bobbi was already darting off to the clothing section, distracted by all of the baby swings and mobiles. “Look at them!” she exclaimed, bending to look at all of the bright colors and glitter. “It’s all so shiny!” 

Hunter decided to send up a prayer to whatever higher being sponsored helping get men through ordeals at the baby warehouse. He was sure going to need it. Perhaps he should’ve had a few beers before coming. 

Bobbi dragged him through every single department the store had to offer, and he had to talk her out of more than one occasion when she spotted a baby swing or a fancy crib. “Bob, they haven’t even shacked up yet,” he had to remind her when she held up the latest in car seats. “We don’t know how much space they have. Christ, you don’t even know if they’re having a baby yet.” 

“They’re shacking up,” Bobbi muttered, rifling through the clothes racks with lightning speed. A mountain of clothes found its way into the cart, and all Hunter could do was watch with pain in his wallet as she continued to throw in hanger after hanger. “There’s gotta be a baby somewhere.”

“Bob?” he asked, and recoiled as soon as she snapped her head up, waiting for his question with sharp eyes. “How’re we paying for all of this?”

“I stole that Cuban merchant’s credit card while he wasn’t looking,” Bobbi said, throwing a three set of fuzzy knit pants into the cart. “I figure, if the bill shows up as Babies ‘R Us, it’ll cause a whole lot of scandal for him while he’s at it.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow, not wanting to ask just how many  _ other  _ credit cards she’d acquired on the run. 

“Don’t just stand there,” Bobbi snapped. “We’ve got three hours to get this shopping done and a whole section of clothes to go through. Start sifting.” Hunter ducked for the nearest rack and began to move clothes hangers back and forth, throwing neutral-colored items into the cart. 

“Wait, Bob?”

“What, Hunter?”

“What happens in three hours?”

Bobbi peeked out from behind the clothes rack, her expression sheepish. “I may or may not have triggered a manhunt for us by using the merchant’s credit card.”

* * *

 

“GO, GO, GO!”

Bobbi considered the fact that she looked like a madwoman sprinting out into the parking lot with a whole cart of baby clothes for all of a second, but then also remembered the bullets flying over her head; insanity was much more preferable than dead.  

“Get the car open, I’ll cover you!” Hunter ducked behind the cart of baby clothes, careful not to spill them onto the wet, cold ground, and began firing as Bobbi popped open the trunk and raced to the driver’s seat. Both Hunter and the cart were thrown into the trunk before Bobbi pulled the quickest reverse parking job in her life, speeding out of the strip mall.

“Did you get everything?” Bobbi asked as Hunter climbed into the passenger seat, shaking himself to warm up. 

Hunter shot her a look. “No, Bob, I missed the bloody rocking chair you tucked under the bottom of the cart,” he deadpanned. “Of course I got everything!”

Bobbi sighed. One could never be too cautious. “Good, because we’re going back the apartment to get our things and then we’re getting the hell out of Dodge.” 

“Bob, we just moved  _ into  _ Dodge.”

* * *

 

**The Playground, Four Days Later**

“Are you sure Daisy was the best choice for Santa?” Simmons asked Coulson as they watched Daisy dance around the base with a box full of tinsel. “I mean, she has taken the matter quite to heart...”

They watched as Daisy attempted to put up a string of tinsel on the ceiling, sighing when it dropped onto her nose instead. “As much as I’d love to be Santa - or the Director, he lives for this kind of stuff - I think Daisy should get it instead,” Coulson shrugged. “She’s had a hell of a year.” 

“Mack, I need your tall arms!” Daisy hollered, and she watched, amused, as Mack slouched in, dressed in a turtle costume. “Riiiiiight there,” she said, trying to keep her snickers in. At last, the strand was pinned into place. “Thanks, Turtleman!”

“You let your girlfriend call you that  _ one  _ time...” was all they heard Mack muttering as he headed back to his bunk; the general assumption that he was trying to work in as much sleep as he could before the day's festivities started. None of them could understand how he was still trying to recover after his all nighter - not even Simmons could explain it.

“Oh come  _ on,  _ Mack!” Daisy yelled after him. “It's just about time for Secret Santa to start, anyways!” She grinned when Mack trooped back in, holding back a yawn and clutching a large mug of coffee. “At least  _ try  _ to put a smile on your face. It's the holidays!” 

“I'll put a smile on my goddamned face when I've slept for a week straight,” Mack grumped, taking a seat by the couch and watching the others troop in with their gifts. He wondered who'd pulled him and what they'd gotten him. Some of them were carrying small boxes, others large packages. 

May carried nothing at all, just an envelope. Daisy, on the other hand, wheeled in a cart full of several wrapped boxes with a gleeful look on her face. “Ooh, I hope that's the new set of tools I've been wanting,” he heard Fitz mutter to Simmons. Coulson had to take several trips into the room for his, and soon, Mack was feeling very nervous about his simple Captain America waffle maker. 

“Wow, guys, knocked it out of the park this year,” Daisy remarked as she rifled around in the hat for names. The first slip was pulled out. “AC, that's you!” 

_ Talk about setting the bar,  _ Mack groaned as he got up, shuffling over to Coulson and handing him the waffle maker. “Hope you like it, sir. Or that you don't already have it.” Coulson took the wrapping paper apart in a painstaking manner, the whole room erupting into groans when his face lit up at the sight of the shield. 

“A waffle maker!” Childlike innocence had somehow found its way onto Coulson's expression, and they all watched as he opened the box, looking it over with an awe they'd never seen. “ _ Thanks,  _ Mack!” 

May, on the other hand, shot him a look. “I will never eat a normal waffle again.”

“But that would mean...” Elena frowned as she tried to process this turn of events, and when May gave her her best challenging glare, she gasped. “Ha! Pay  _ up,  _ Johnson!” Daisy pulled out a ten dollar bill with a sullen look on her face, slapping it into Elena's palm along with a card. “I  _ told  _ you.”

“Moving on,” Daisy announced, pulling out another piece of paper. “Fitz!” 

All eyes turned when Coulson pointed to the large packages behind him, laughing when Fitz scrambled towards them in a manner not unlike a monkey's. “There's so many, sir!” Fitz exclaimed, his eyes wide. “Which one I open first?” 

Coulson squinted at the pile, then handed Fitz an envelope. “I’d guess this one.” Fitz tore it open, frowning in confusion when he saw the IKEA gift card. “Uh, sir...?”

“For when you and Simmons decide to furnish your new place,” he explained. “Or, when you want a good set of meatballs. You know. Either one works.”

“Oh, no,” Simmons groaned to Elena. “He's going to get a TV stand for Bridget. I can't  _ believe  _ you sided with him on that argument.” She straightened up, assuming a Scottish accent. “We've al _ ready  _ got the stand, Simmons, I don't see why we can't get the television to go with it!” 

“I bought the TV stand, as a matter of fact,” Coulson told her, grinning. That seemed to be the tipping point for Simmons, for she let out a half scream and buried her head in her hands. “The other one's a couch.” 

“Direc - I mean,  _ Agent  _ Coulson!” Elena patted her back with a sympathetic cluck. 

“If you need to, I'm sure Robbie will always be happy to incinerate it for you,” Daisy offered. She drew the next piece of paper from the bucket. “Hey, it's me!”

Much to her surprise, Robbie got up and headed right to her, handing her a box wrapped in flaming chili peppers. “I know you've seen a lot of shit this year because of you are,” he said in a soft voice when she took the box. “This is my way of reminding you that sometimes you have to embrace who you are.”

“Well  _ shit,  _ babe,” Daisy quipped to a round of laughs. “Now you've done and gotten me all emotional.” Still, she opened the wrapping paper with reverence, mouth dropping open upon pulling out the sweatshirt. It'd taken another hour and a half and lengthy debate with Simmons, but he'd been able to decide on the size and garment. 

He watched Daisy read the ‘INHUMAN AND PROUD’ inscription on the front, the sweatshirt crumpling in her right hand as her left covered her mouth. Tears shimmered in melting pots of brown caramel, and it took a lot of self control not to hug her and kiss them away. “I love it,” Daisy said in a choked voice, sniffling. She popped it on over her head, the Santa hat falling off in the process. Robbie popped it right back on her head as soon as she emerged from the oversized gift, taking advantage of the move to also kiss her forehead. “Thanks, Robbie.” She pulled out the next piece of paper, still sniffling. “May.”

Fitz shot up like a rocket and ambled over to her, holding out a box with trembling hands. “You - you always talked about how you didn't have headphones that didn't move with you,” he babbled, looking down as May took apart the wrapping paper with precision. “And - and the regular headphones on the market don't last as long as they should, so I. I built you a pair.” His speech over, Fitz scampered back to his seat next to Simmons, hiding his face in her shoulder.

May pulled out the headphones, an expression of mild impression on her face. “Huh. Thanks, Fitz. Don't suppose you could program these for me as soon as possible?”

“Of - of course, Agent May.”

“Alrighty, Fitzopold,” Skye exclaimed. “Let's save you some embarrassment, shall we?” She pulled out the next piece of paper. “Robbie!”

Elena grinned as she handed him a package, and he weighed it in his hands, trying to figure out what it was. “I think it'll be useful,” she said, her eyes twinkling when he tore the paper apart. 

“Fire B Gone?” he snorted as Elena and Simmons both burst into laughter. Even Coulson had to hold back a chuckle. “You got me fire extinguisher spray?” Daisy eyed the cans with an amused eye, picking one up and examining the label. 

“I asked Coulson what to get the man on fire,” Elena shrugged. “He said get you a fire extinguisher, but I thought it was too heavy.” She smirked. “I hope you like it, si?” 

“It's  _ perfect,” _ he deadpanned, spraying some onto his head. “Puts the fire right out.”

“Could be worse, man,” Mack chimed in. “She could've gotten you a turtle costume.”

“He is right,” Elena murmurs. “I could have gotten you a fireproof suit instead.”

“You should've,” Daisy snorted, drawing another piece of paper. “Ah. Turtleman.”

She and May exchanged looks, and Daisy stood up to leave the room. May handed him an envelope, her expression serious. “I thought you'd might like to read this.” Frowning, Mack opened the envelope, scanning the article. “‘ _ All disavowed agents are welcome to return to the agency, provided that...’  _ May, did you just Secret Santa me a memo from the new director?” This wasn't something he could handle on no sleep. Not at all. 

“Not a memo,” May said, her quiet voice somehow emotional. “A precursor.”

_ “Oi! Who beat my Call of Duty score? That took months!” _

_ “Hunter!”  _

_ “I'm sorry, Bob, you try trying to beat Mack for ten months straight and have your score taken over. Oi! Fitz! I can’t believe you, mate!” _

Mack couldn't resist the grin stretching over his face, not believing what he was hearing. All of his sleep deprivation drained away, replaced by a cautious elation he wouldn't elaborate on just yet. “Is that...”

“If you were hoping for Oprah, no, mate, sorry, you'll have to wait a couple of more generations,” Hunter deadpanned, striding into the room amid shocked (and one confused) looks. “But if you were looking for a merc and his hellbeast of an ex wife, present?” He stared at Mack's costume. “What are you  _ doing  _ with that turtle, mate?”

Mack choked out a laugh, getting up to pat the Brit on the back. “Good to see you, Hunter.” He wouldn't let those tears in the back of his eyes fall. He couldn't. Not when his theory of never being able to see Bobbi and Hunter again was being disproved before his very eyes. The two of them shared a handshake that would've put Hunter's handshake with Daisy to shame. “And no, I lost a bet. I'll have to tell you the story.”

“Ooh, a story,” Bobbi chuckled from the corner, weary blue eyes meeting tired brown ones. Both of them nodded, acknowledging the tales to be told once they were settled. “You'll have to tell me that one over a three olive martini,”

“Hold the olives,” they both echoed, and just like that, it was like something in him was whole again, something he hadn't paid attention to since Elena had sped into his life. He stepped forward once, and they were embracing, Bobbi letting out a dry chuckle. “I missed you, Barbara. Never pull a stunt like that again.”

“As long as you don't call me Barbara,” 

Elena leaned over to Simmons, confused and (she'd never admit to herself) somewhat jealous. “What's the situation there?” 

“Oh, Bobbi and Mack have been friends for  _ years,”  _ Simmons said, waving an airy hand. “And Mack chained Hunter to a sink some time ago, but that's all well and done. Nothing to worry about, I promise.” Still, Elena couldn't help but notice how the scientist's eyes lingered a little on Bobbi before flickering back to Fitz, who was swiping through the IKEA catalogue on his phone. 

“Something there, Doctor Simmons?”

“Wha - oh,  _ no,” _ Simmons said, turning an awful shade of red. Elena fought to stifle her laughter as the scientist stammered and stuttered, trying to find the best way possible to explain herself. “Agent Morse is - I would  _ never  _ \- that's not at  _ all  _ -”

“Hey, Jem.”

“Agent Morse!” If Simmons’ blush had been prominent before, Elena noted, it was nothing compared to what it was now. “It's rather good to see you - well, I mean, not that not every occasion is good to see you, but it's been such a long while since we've been able to talk and oh dear, I've not stopped talking, have I?”

“No, and you've forgotten that  _ it's just Bobbi,  _ Jemma.” Bobbi took a seat next to her, Hunter sitting next to Fitz and congratulating him. “So I heard you're going to shack up with Fitz.” Simmons spluttered. “That is right, isn't it? You guys are moving in together?”

“Of course, but I've just never heard it phrased in such a  _ vulgar  _ way -” 

Bobbi sighed. “Good.” She studied Simmons then, full of bright young energy and an optimism about the future she no longer possessed. “Tell me,” she said, searching her eyes. “Was the ride worth it?” 

At that, Simmons gave her an encouraging, bright smile. “Every last minute of it.”

“Elena!”

Hunter started at the sound of his Secret Santa's name being called, and he turned to give the box to Elena, who took it with a raised eyebrow. “I thought it would add some levity to the whole situation,” he said by way of explanation as she opened the gift. Inside was a shirt that said, ‘I went through terrigenesis and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’.

Elena stared it, trying to comprehend what had just been given to her. “I'm touched, funny enough,” she said, holding the shirt up to the light. “Thank you, Hunter.”

“No problem.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “How about you don't try to steal my stuff again and we'll consider us even?”

“Simmons!”

“And that's my cue,” Bobbi got up, smacked Hunter in the shoulder, and left the room. When they returned, both of them were carrying several bags and boxes, which were deposited in front of FitzSimmons with gusto. 

“Everything you'd need to entertain a baby for the first three years of his - her - their amazing life,” Hunter gulped, quailing away from Bobbi's glare. “Don't worry, we didn't spend a fortune, Bob just happened to steal a Cuban merchant's credit card, and there may be a price on our heads.”

FitzSimmons just stared at the pile, gobsmacked. After the longest time, Fitz spoke in his most strangled voice. “Jemma?”

“Yes, Fitz?”

“We're not having children anytime soon, are we?”

“Bloody hell, I’d hope not.”

“Barbara Robert!”

“One day, Daisy, I'll kill you for learning that,” Bobbi muttered, smiling when Simmons handed her a box. “Aw, thanks, Jem,” she said as the smaller scientist blushed. She opened the box, careful not to destroy Simmons’ meticulous wrapping job. “‘Make Your Very Own Voodoo Kit'. Huh. You know me  _ way  _ too well, Jem.” She waved the box at Hunter. “I know where this is going.”

“And last but not least, Amadeus Ravenclaw Hunter,” Daisy announced, pointing to the gift-wrapped cart. “At your service, sir.”

Hunter tore open the wrapping paper faster than Fitz had, his shock evident when he unearthed a large pile of various alcohols.”Are you fucking  _ serious,  _ Johnson?” Daisy nodded, and he swept her up in a hug. “Merry Christmas to me!” 

The laugh started slow - whoever started it, they would never know - but soon they were all laughing. Old and new friends alike, relationships in platonics or romanticism, all mushed together into one room of beer, Ikea furniture and Fire B Gone. “Merry Christmas, guys,” Coulson said when he managed to choke out a sentence. “Merry fucking Christmas.”

“Hear, hear!” Hunter exclaimed, holding up a beer. 


End file.
